


Lucky Strike Routine

by summerdayghost



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Cancer, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Future Fic, Immortality, Mentions of Cancer, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Smoking, Underage Smoking, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/pseuds/summerdayghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ended up having the same conversation everyday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Strike Routine

Many years before you were born there was a woman who would walk to the same street corner at the same time every working day for a cigarette break. This street corner was close enough to the building she worked at that she could get there without inconvenience or being gone too long, yet far enough that she was unlikely to be interrupted by a nosy coworker.

She had her first cigarette at fifteen years old. There was a boy named Richard who wore sweater vests and cried watching soap operas and action movies alike (or was it a girl named Margot who wore old and ratty jackets that she must have pulled from a GoodWill trashcan and got into more fist fights than should have technically been possible considering the general pacifism of her neighbors?) living at the military base that she was quite fond of. Richard had met her at the park on a day when the brightness of a fresh spring was still evident (or was it that Margot had snuck into her room at three o'clock in the morning two days after Christmas?). He pulled out a pack of Marlboros that a visiting uncle had accidentally left behind with shaking hands (or did Margot confidently hold out her own stolen pack of Camels?). He didn't know what he was doing, but he desperately wanted to impress her (or was it that Margot knew exactly what she was doing but desperately needed to corrupt her?).

She had a bare minimum of one cigarette a day ever since.

About sixteen years into the career she started as soon as she legally could and worked until she couldn't anymore, a young man straight from rural Kansas became her coworker. At first she hated this man. Her main reason for her initial disdain was that some farm boy could get the exact some position she had worked her ass off to get all of these sixteen years as an opening position. Despite her best attempts to be cold towards him he had a habit of clinging to her side. Including following her to her cigarette break. He did not smoke.

They ended up having the same conversation everyday.

"You really shouldn't smoke Lois."

"Yeah, yeah, cancer, I know."

"But-"

"Save it Smallville. I don't have cancer."

And he'd stare at her for just long enough to be unnerving but not long enough for her to tell him to cut it out before he'd say with a quiet, relieved tone, "Not yet."

Eventually by some bizarre miracle they became friends. Don't ask her how, she wouldn't know (or she would deny their friendship as a whole). If were to ask him, he would tell you that they were always friends. He would be wrong. No matter how it happened she now trusted him with things she would never tell anyone else and she legitimately enjoyed his company. While he also enjoyed her company, he unfortunately couldn't trust her in the same way she trusted him. Because they enjoyed each other's company so much he would follow her to her cigarette break. He did not smoke.

They ended up having the same conversation everyday.

"You really shouldn't smoke Lois."

"Yeah, yeah, cancer, I know."

"But-"

"Save it Smallville. I don't have cancer."

And he'd stare at her for just long enough to be unnerving but not long enough for her to tell him to cut it out before he'd say with a quiet, relieved tone, "Not yet."

Quickly after that (or was it slowly, through the progression of years?) they fell in love with each other (or maybe only one of them fell for the other with the other less oblivious than they pretend but never reciprocating?). No one ever made a move (or maybe she kissed him once while they argued about a story and they never spoke of it again? or maybe he confessed his undying love and she didn't take him seriously?), and the relationship stayed platonic. Since they were still friends he would follow her to her cigarette break. He did not smoke.

They ended up having the same conversation everyday.

"You really shouldn't smoke Lois."

"Yeah, yeah, cancer, I know."

"But-"

"Save it Smallville. I don't have cancer."

And he'd stare at her for just long enough to be unnerving but not long enough for her to tell him to cut it out before he'd say with a quiet, relieved tone, "Not yet."

(The very last time they had this conversation he didn't say anything when he usually would have said "Not yet". After that he stopped coming with her on her cigarette breaks and became annoyingly sentimental. He started randomly sending flowers and other gifts from "secret admirers", taking pictures of insignificant things as if they were great achievements, and pressuring her into spending more time with her family. He had been considering proposing but ultimately decided against it. She noticed that tears would escape his eyes at odd times, but he'd claim that he wasn't crying, that he just had an allergy to something.)

Oh but that was quite some time ago. Decades? Centuries? Millennia? No one is certain. Time is a fickle invention.

You've walked past that corner everyday ever since you learned to walk. Before that day you were pushed past it in a stroller.

You had been seeing the man at the street corner for the past couple of weeks (or had you been seeing him there your entire life but we're only just now paying him any attention?). The cigarette in his mouth caught your eye. At first you weren't quite sure what it was as you'd never seen one outside of movies and museums. Hell, you weren't even fully aware they still made them.

It was windy November night (or was it a humid July day?) when you finally built up the nerve to talk to him, "I'm pretty sure cigarettes are toxic."

He barely glanced at you with eyes that revealed someone who was surely too old to inhabit that face, "Trust me when I say that I know that better than anybody else around."

He had a strange accent, and you couldn't quite place where he was from. The best way to describe his voice was outdated.

"Then why are you smoking?" Everything about this man befuddled you.

"Because I'm afraid of forgetting." He said that as if it explained everything.

"Forgetting what?"

He opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. The man frowned, "I'm not entirely sure anymore."

You haven't seen the man since.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting untouched in one of my old notebooks for a while, and I liked it so I decided to post it. Thank you for reading this. I hope you liked it. Have a good day!


End file.
